by B. J Daniels
She braced herself, her gaze flicking to Jake, his look sympathetic, supportive. She looked at the face in the photo. Her heart leaped into her throat.
“Is that the man you knew as Dex Westfall? Tadd asked again.
She nodded, looking away from the dead man’s face to stare into the darkness of the empty firebox.
Jake took the flier from her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t all right and wondered if she’d ever be all right again. The man she’d known as Dex Westfall was dead. So who had been snooping around her lodge last night? Who had she seen who looked like Dex? Who’d run out of the lodge? Who had pulled her into the lake and tried to drown her?
“Have you got an ID on the body yet?” Jake asked Tadd as he handed back the flier.
Out of the corner of her eye, Clancy watched Tadd carefully fold the sheet of paper and put it into his shirt pocket. He’s stalling, she thought, and faced him, realizing he’d brought news. Bad news.
“The sheriff got a positive ID from the family this morning,” Tadd said. “What Dex told you, Clancy, about being raised in eastern Montana on a farm turned out to be true.”
The air in the living room crackled. “Who was he?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.
Tadd’s gaze shifted to Jake. “His real name was Dexter Strickland.”
“Strickland?” Jake asked.
“Strickland?” Clancy repeated, the name not registering.
It was Tadd who answered. “Dex Strickland was Lola’s son.”
Lola. A chill stole across her skin. “Lola Strickland, the resort secretary?” The woman Jake’s father had gone to prison for murdering.
Clancy looked over at Jake. He stood, his muscles tensed, all his attention on Tadd.
“Dex was her son?” Jake asked, sounding not all that surprised.
“I never knew she had a son.” Was Clancy the only one shocked here? “I didn’t even know she’d ever been married.”
“No one did,” Tadd said. “Dex lived with his father on a farm near Richey. The father had custody. I guess Lola just up and disappeared one day, leaving her husband to raise his infant son alone. Allan Strickland never heard from her again.”
“What about during the trial?” Clancy asked. “It was in all the papers. Surely he would have heard about his wife’s death.”
“From what I can gather, Allan Strickland’s farm is pretty isolated,” Tadd said. “But you’re right. He knew about her death. He says he was trying to shield his son.”
Clancy’s legs wobbled beneath her. “If Dex was Lola’s son…”
“The murders have to be connected,” Jake said.
“We don’t know that,” Tadd said. “But it could explain why Dex had the newspaper clippings of the trial in his closet and why he might have wanted to meet Clancy.”
“Why Clancy?” Jake asked.
Clancy saw the pain etched in his face and wished with all her heart that she wasn’t responsible for him being here, for him having to relive all this. They were talking about the woman his father had been convicted of murdering.
Clancy wanted to reach out to Jake but knew she was the last person he’d take sympathy from. Especially right now.
“Why wouldn’t Dex come after me?” Jake demanded. “If he wanted retribution, it was my father who.he believed killed his mother.”
“Who knows what Dex had in mind?” Tadd said. “Maybe he was just looking for some connection to his mother.”
“Or to his mother’s murder,” Jake interjected.
That seemed more a possibility now that Clancy thought about it. “He did say something that night about his mother’s legacy and how it linked the two of us.”
“But what was that legacy?” Jake asked.
“Well, it seems to be death,” Tadd said quietly, making the hair stiffen on Clancy’s neck.
Dex had stalked her. With a shudder, she realized Dex was still stalking her. “Did Dex have any brothers?”
Jake’s gaze swung around to meet hers.
“I already thought of that,” Tadd said. “I asked Allan Strickland if there were any more like Dex at home.”
“And?” Jake asked impatiently.
“Dex didn’t have any siblings.”
Clancy felt the air rush out of her. The floor wavered and threatened to come up to meet her.
“You should sit down,” Jake said, suddenly appearing at her side.
She gave him the best smile she could manage. “I’m okay. I’m more worried about you.”
He seemed surprised that she would be worried about him right now. He returned her smile. “Thanks, but I’m tough.”
She knew that. And tender. Her heart ached to take some of the pain from those gray eyes. She wished she had lied on the stand about his father. At least now she could rectify things. “I think I’ll get a drink of water.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Jake said, already heading for the kitchen.
She stopped him. “Please, I need a little fresh air. A few moments alone.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
Was he worried about her? Or just worried she’d jump bail? She felt a stab of annoyance. Just when she let down her defenses, he’d remind her again exactly what his stake in her case was. Revenge. Nothing more. She was on her own, now more than ever.
She left the two of them in the living room and went straight to the porch, where she gulped the summer afternoon air and tried to quit shaking. Dex was Lola Strickland’s son. She couldn’t even comprehend all the ramifications of that. What had Tadd said? Maybe he was just looking for a connection to his mother. Or to his mother’s murder, Jake had added. Is that why he went to so much trouble to get close to her?
A connection. Like the string of beads. Dex said the beads were a legacy from his mother. But Lola was dead, and all of her belongings had burned in the fire. So where had he gotten the necklace? From someone who was still on the island who’d known Lola? Or someone on the mainland?
That silly necklace, why was it so familiar? The memory came in a flash. The string of tiny blue beads. Light glinting off the small dark blue ceramic heart. Clancy knew she’d seen them before. Now she knew where.
The memory brought her little pleasure. She’d seen them the night Jake Hawkins had promised her his heart. That’s why the tiny navy heart had stuck in her memory. She reminded herself that not only had Jake broken that promise—he was now on the island to, as he put it, get the goods on her.
Grabbing her mountain bike from where she’d left it against the porch railing, Clancy took off up one of the trails without thinking of anything but reaching her destination and getting back before Jake missed her. If she was right, she might have some answers to keep her out of prison when she returned.
THE LODGE SEEMED EMPTY after Clancy left. Almost eerie. Jake found himself pacing, too keyed up to sit.
“I’m worried about Clancy,” Tadd said, leaning forward as he watched Jake wear out the rug in front of him.
“You should be,” Jake said, stopping his pacing for a moment. He fought the urge to check on Clancy again. Not long after she’d gone outside, he’d looked out to find her standing on the back porch. He wanted to give her the space she’d asked for, but not too much. She couldn’t get into too much trouble for a few minutes on her own back porch in broad daylight, right?
“She thinks someone is trying to kill her,” Jake said, resuming his pacing. He told Tadd about the near drowning incident and filled in more detail about last night’s supposed intruder. “She thinks someone who looks like Dex Westfall is still stalking her.”
Tadd gave him one of those calculated lawyer looks. “Is that what you think?”
Jake didn’t know what to believe. “There’s a scrape on her ankle, and if you’d seen Clancy’s face last night—She saw something,” Jake said in Clancy’s defense. “Someone. Someone she thinks looks enough like Dex to make her believe he’s still
alive.”
“You don’t believe Strickland’s come back from the dead?” Tadd inquired.
“Of course not.” Jake pulled off his cap and rumpled his hair with his hand.
“At. some point, Clancy’s going to have to see a sleep specialist and have some extensive tests run on her,” Tadd said. “If we can prove she has a sleeping disorder. That Dex’s death was the result of noninsane automatism, an act committed by a sane person but without—”
“Intent, awareness or malice,” Jake interrupted. “I know, I’ve read about it.” He shook his head at Tadd. “If Clancy killed Dex, it wasn’t in her sleep. Dex Strickland stalked her, lied about who he was, cheated on her. All the more reason for Clancy to want him dead. Add to that the mountain of evidence against her—”
“I have to sell the jury on the sleepwalking defense or she’s going to prison,” Tadd interrupted.
Jake groaned, realizing how true that probably was. “Unless I can find some evidence that proves she didn’t kill him.” And if he couldn’t? Then he’d have no bargaining chip. Funny how that didn’t matter as much as it had just a few days ago. “She thinks Dex has come back from the grave for her.”
“Ever read any Edgar Allan Poe?” Tadd asked.
“There’s no heart thumping under the floorboards here. Unless it’s Lola Strickland’s.”
Tadd gave him a long look. “You think Dex came back to either avenge his mother’s death or solve her murder?”
“You have to admit, both are possibilities,” Jake said. “But if he believed my father was guilty, why wouldn’t he come after me instead of Clancy? Unless he believes Clancy’s father, Clarence Jones, is somehow involved.”
“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Tadd said as he got to his feet. “Maybe you should solve one murder at a time, preferably the one you’re being paid to solve.”
“The murders are connected.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. My only concern is for my client. What’s yours?”
“Clancy,” Jake said, realizing that was true. “But these murders are connected.”
His entire theory rode on the premise that the two murders were connected, and Dex turning out to be Lola’s son only supported that. The hunch discoing at the back of his brain was that whoever killed Dex had killed Dex’s mother. Clarence Jones could have embezzled the money, either used Lola to do it or killed her because she found the discrepancy, and started the fire to cover his own misdeeds. Warren Hawkins had come along after the fact, just as he said, and tried to save Lola and the books to prove his innocence.
But Clarence and Lola were dead. And Warren was in prison. So where did that leave Jake? All the prime suspects were now out of the picture. Too many things were blowing holes in his hunch.
Not only that, ten years ago he had found it easier to believe that Clancy had perjured herself than he did now—perhaps being around her had altered his perspective.
“I don’t see how the murders could be connected,” Tadd said.
“Clancy’s the connection,” Jake insisted. “Maybe she saw something that night that someone doesn’t want her to remember.”
Tadd lifted a brow. “They waited ten years to shut her up?”
Jake admitted it didn’t make a lot of sense. But what did about this case?
Tadd let out a long sigh. “I’m worried about Clancy’s mental state. I’m concerned she might be on the verge of a major breakdown. The sooner we get to trial, the better.”
“I beg your pardon?”
They both swung around at the sound of a sharp, female voice from the doorway.
“Kiki!” Jake said. Her name came out like an oath.
“I can assure you my niece is not on the verge of a major breakdown, as you so delicately put it,” she said firmly. She stormed into the room, giving them both withering glares. “Nor is she a murderer.”
Jake wondered how long she’d been standing in the doorway listening. He didn’t have to wonder long.
“If my niece says someone is trying to kill her, I expect you to believe her,” Kiki said, biting off each word.
Tadd was on his feet, trying to explain himself, but Kiki cut him off.
“How can you fools not believe her?” Kiki snapped, some of her highly bred composure slipping. “Clancy’s no murderer. She didn’t care enough about the man to kill him. Asleep. Or awake.” She narrowed her eyes at Jake. “Why aren’t you out looking for the real killer instead of sitting around speculating on Clancy’s mental health?” She shook her head in disgust “Where is my niece, anyway? I came by to see how she was doing.”
Jake stared at Kiki. “Didn’t you pass her on your way in? She was out on the porch just a—” He was already racing toward the back of the lodge. He pushed through the door and out onto the porch. “Clancy?” She was nowhere in sight. A breeze rippled the water. The tops of the tall pines swayed overhead. Her boat was still at the dock. The beach was empty. He glanced around, thinking she might have just gone for a walk.
Then he noticed her mountain bike was gone. He swore, knowing he’d never be able to catch her on foot. Nor did he have any idea which trail she might have taken. The island was a labyrinth of trails.
“It’s a small island,” he heard Tadd trying to reassure Kiki. “How could she get into trouble on such a small island in broad daylight?”
“Find her. Hurry.” The emotion in Kiki’s command clutched at Jake’s heart. He felt the tentative strum of a hunch at the base of his spine. He knew the name of this tune. Trouble. And Clancy, as usual, was right at the center of it.
Chapter Twelve
Clancy rode up the narrow mountain trail through the cool pines. The sun sliced down, making patterns of gold on the dry pine needles covering the path. The trail climbed the steep terrain through a series of switchbacks to the top of the ridge. The exertion felt good; she pushed herself harder, stopping at the top to catch her breath.
The lake stretched for miles, a mosaic of blues and greens. The Mission Mountains rose up from the valley floor to the east. Pines, dense and dark as the ones around her, edged the other side of the lake as far as the eye could see. To the north, boats churned the water in a bay near the resort. Laughter and the roar of engines drifted up the mountainside, making Clancy ache for happier summer days.
She headed down the main trail that ran along the ridgeline. Occasionally she’d catch a view of the lake from the dense pines. The island was a web of narrow trails; most she’d ridden at one time or another during her childhood. Ridden with Jake, she thought. Back when their lives had held nothing but promise.
As she rode, she tried to understand everything she’d learned over the last few hours and where she fit into it. Some things started to make an odd kind of sense to her. Why Dex had stalked her. Why he’d followed her to the island. This is where his mother had died, and Clancy Jones had been the only witness.
That is what tied her to Dex Strickland. The same thing that distanced her from Jake.
* * *
JAKE AND TADD SPLIT up and, lacking a bicycle, Jake began his search for Clancy on foot. Tadd opted to go by boat. Her bike tires had left no tracks on the needle-covered path, so Jake had no way of knowing which way she’d gone or where she was headed. He took the trail directly behind the house.
He stormed up the trail, that hunch of his dancing to that same old little ditty. Clancy was the key. Had always been the key. Now that he knew Dex was Lola’s son, there was no doubt in his mind that their deaths were connected. Nor did he have any choice but to dig into the old murder and his father’s case.
What bothered him like a bad headache just getting started was his father. Why had Warren Hawkins asked him not to get involved? Well, Jake was involved now. And he was going to learn the truth. About his father. About Clancy.
But first he had to find her. She couldn’t have gone far, he told himself. Jake couldn’t believe she’d taken off again. He knew the shock had thrown her just as it had him. But if she really beli
eved someone was trying to kill her, how could she have taken such a chance?
Because she was too impetuous, independent and stubborn for her own good. But Jake knew he was partly to blame. He’d made it clear to her that she couldn’t trust him. She was alone and scared. Now he had to find her before she got into more trouble.
* * *
CLQNCY CRUISED DOWN the mountain on a narrow trail that came out directly behind Johnny and Helen Branson’s place at the edge of the cliffs.
Helen spotted her as she came out of the pines and waved from the kitchen window for her to come on in.
Helen was petite with short blond hair that showed no gray, blue eyes and fair skin. Unlike Johnny, Helen didn’t look as though she’d aged at all the last ten years. In fact, Clancy noticed with surprise, Helen looked as if she might be closer to thirty than she was fifty.
“I hope I didn’t catch you right at dinner,” Clancy apologized as she was met with the smell of pot roast.
“Don’t be silly,” Helen said from her wheelchair in front of the stove. Johnny had built the house to accommodate Helen’s disability; everything was wheelchair level. “Stay for dinner. Johnny should be here any moment. We’d love to have you.”
Clancy’s stomach growled, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but she declined the offer. She had to get back before Jake called out the National Guard.
“Maybe some other time,” she told Helen. “I just stopped by to ask you something.”
“I heard about all that nasty business. I’ve been so concerned for you.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You remember Lola Strickland, the secretary at the resort?”
Helen frowned. “Why, yes.”
“That man, the one who was killed upstairs at my lodge. His real name was Dex Strickland. He was Lola’s son.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “My word. The woman had children?”
“One,” Clancy said. “A son.”
